Fall lifted his fiery finger
to set the colours in the woods aflame.
He told the North Wind not to linger
but play with rustling leaves a game,
to push them forth through street and lane,
to leave them weary in the gutters
while heavy from a half lit sky the rain
is beating hard the window shutters.
Under the trees into dull mud decay
the foliage, the fruits, the weeds.
The lake stirs greatly in this hazy day
to brood and boil among the reeds.
In our house a fire is ablaze,
its rosy comfort is to charm and cheer.
Let on the grates us scented apples braise,
let’s sing and at Old Winter jeer!
© I. Beddies
Todos los derechos pertenecen a su autor. Ha sido publicado en e-Stories.org a solicitud de Irene Beddies.
Publicado en e-Stories.org el 21.11.2012.